So in case you didn't notice, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince movie came out this week. And if you're interested I got to see it a day early. But that's another story. The point is, it got me a bit excited about this little story, so I thought I'd give it a shot at another chapter ;)

Love, J

Music is going to be…hm…I'm thinking Glen Hansard

As the door of his cell snapped shut, James felt the rat crawl out from the neck of his robes and leap off his shoulder onto the ground at his feet. He staggered backward, collapsing weakly against the stone wall, and closed his eyes, silent until he heard the click of the rat's claws against the cold floor soften to the soles of shoes.

"Hello, Peter," he said softly, his eyes still closed.

"Blimey Jim, you look bloody awful," Peter croaked.

"Nice to see you too, mate," James replied dully.

"I have something for you," Peter said quietly. "From Dumbledore."

James opened his eyes and accepted the small piece of parchment Peter drew from his robes and extended toward him. He scanned it quickly, his expression never changing. When he finished, he merely stared at the thin, slanting handwriting for a long moment, then crumpled it up and threw it into a corner of the small cell.

"What did it say?" Peter asked, failing to conceal the shock in his voice.

"It said Dumbledore's gonna burst in and save the day," James choked bitterly. "And then we're all going to live happily ever after."

"Come on James. Don't be like that," Peter said gently.

"Well, what am I supposed to be like?" James snapped.

They both stared at the parchment for a moment, silent, then James dropped his head into his hands with a soft moan. Peter walked slowly over to the corner and picked up the discarded scrap, smoothing it carefully and reading it. "James," he said after a moment of careful consideration. "I think—"

"It won't work, Peter," James snapped, not looking up. "I'm finished. It's over. I wish you'd all just let me die in peace."

Peter stared at him. "Listen to yourself. Listen to what you're saying. Where's the James Potter I knew?"

"There's no point fighting a battle you can't win!" James burst out, his head jerking up.

"But at least you fought," Peter replied weakly, casting his eyes away from his friend. James didn't respond. Still holding the parchment, Peter sank down against the wall beside James. "You give up now, you're not just giving up on yourself. You're giving up on me, and Sirius, and Remus, and Dumbledore, and the whole Order. You're giving up on everything you've worked for your whole life. You're giving up on Lily."

James looked up sharply. Peter swallowed nervously and continued slowly, "Maybe it'll work, maybe it won't…but you'll never know unless you try." Peter once again extended the rumpled piece of parchment to James. He stared at it for a long moment, then slowly took it, studying it once again.

"Can you remember what he said?" Peter asked. James nodded slowly. "Then why not try it?" Peter asked.

"Because I don't want to walk to my death tomorrow," James replied hoarsely, "thinking it isn't really going to happen, and that I'm going to live to see another day. Not ready to let go. Because there's too great a chance it won't work. I don't want to die thinking I still have time."

"So you're saying you want to die hopeless?" Peter countered.

"No, I just—" James paused. "If it's going to end, I want to be ready for it."

Peter nodded. They sat in silence for a long while, the cries and moans of prisoners in adjacent cells echoing around them.

"I just wish I'd known," James said softly. "I wish I had one more day to say goodbye, you know, and really tell everyone I loved how much I cared. Just one more day to do everything for the last time, and say goodbye to the world… and everything."

Peter nodded, not knowing what to say.

"I've been thinking a lot about… you know… dying," James said slowly. "And I don't… I don't think I'm afraid of it. I'm just… not ready yet. And I wish I had more time. But I think… I think, when it happens, it's going to be a lot like something we do every day."

Peter looked sideways at his friend. A strange calm had settled over James's pale face. " You mean… like falling asleep?"

James shook his head, eyes forward. "No… like waking up."

-- -- --

Sirius looked up as the familiar chill of dementors seized the room. Three of them swept silently in, dragging behind them James, his hands chained in front of him, looking as pale and desperate as he had in Azkaban.

Sirius felt his stomach tighten, and he thought for a moment he might throw up. Whatever Dumbledore had planned, whatever message he had sent with Peter, Sirius knew was only a small shadow of hope for James's survival. Dumbledore himself had admitted the plan was a risk, and relied on factors beyond their control. But it was all they had.

James was dragged forward, the chain around his wrists fastened to a metal ring on the wall. As the dementors glided away, Sirius caught a flicker of movement near James's shoe, and the rat leapt from its hiding place and scurried across the floor, taking refuge behind Sirius's heel. Sirius looked down at the rat, then back at James, now standing alone and erect, like a solitary island in uncharted and stormy seas, facing death in the only way he knew how: with his head high.

"James Edward Potter," the familiar and piercing voice of Barty Crouch split the silent air. "You have been tried and found guilty of the murder of William Evans, Catherine Evans, and Lily Evans Potter. As punishment for these crimes, you have been sentenced to death. Today that sentence is to be carried out by Augustus Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries.

Rookwood, the room's only other occupant, stepped forward, his hand flexing on his wand.

Crouch rolled up the scroll he had been reading from with a suffocating air of self importance. "Do you have any last words?"

James looked up sharply. "What?"

Crouch's mouth formed a thin line of irritation. "Do you have any last words?"

"Um," James closed his eyes, reaching backward and gripping the iron ring to which he was chained to steady himself on shaking legs. "Yes."

Crouch stared at him, expectantly. Sirius felt his stomach again jerk in painful dread. "Well?"

James opened his eyes, and looked not at Crouch, but to Sirius. There was no smile, no hope, no reassurance. Not even acceptance. Just the glimmer of parting, and all the things he never had the chance to say.

"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death," he whispered finally.

There was silence for a moment, then Crouch let out a short laugh. "How amusing," he sneered. "No doubt one of Dumbledore's amusing little aphorisms. You truly are Dumbledore's boy through and through, Potter. But looks like he isn't here to save you this time. The law has once again triumphed. Now then. Mr. Rookwood," James felt a painful jerk in his stomach. "Whenever you're ready."

It only took James a moment to realize that the twist in his stomach was not from fear. As Rookwood raised his wand, the colors of the room began to blur, spinning around him. He felt his feet leaving the ground, the bare room disappearing beneath him, the cry of "Avada Kedavra!" lost in a whirlwind of rushing sound pouring into his eardrums.

By the time the green light erupted from the end of Rookwood's wand, James Potter was gone.

-- -- --

After what felt like years, but could not have been more than moments, James' feet crashed into solid ground. Immediately, his shaking legs gave out under him, and he collapsed, trembling.

"Albus!" a voice cried from somewhere above him. He heard running footsteps, then felt someone sink to the ground beside him.

"James… James, can you hear me?"

I'm alive… I'm still alive…

His eyes snapped open. Dumbledore's face, etched with concern, swam into focus, Professor McGonagall hovering close behind him.

James felt like he was surfacing from water. He suddenly realized he was choking for air, like a man pulled drowning from a stormy sea. "Professor," he gasped, finding his voice at last.

"James, are you hurt?"

"No… I…" he wasn't sure if he was crying or laughing or a blissful mix of both. He sat up sharply, pushing away the dizziness still clouding him. "It worked! Merlin, it worked!" He reached out and pulled Dumbledore into a fierce hug, his words trapped in a throat clogged by emotion.

"I'm glad it did," Dumbledore said, and James could hear the note of relief in his voice. "Now lie back," Dumbledore pushed him gently away, forcing him back to the ground. "You've had a terrible ordeal, you need to relax. And take these off," Dumbledore waved his wand and the manacles still attached to James' wrists fell away.

James was still reeling. "The chains were a Portkey! I never would have… How did you… Professor, you truly are…" Again, impossible to continue.

Dumbledore smiled. "It was a terrible risk. I apologize for not presenting you with a more concrete means of escape."

"How did you do it?" James finally choked.

"Well most of it relied on you, James," Dumbledore replied evenly. "I realize my note was rather cryptic, for which I apologize, but any details more than what I gave you, including the exact phrase necessary to activate the Portkey, were too risky. It was your memory of the last words I spoke to you at the trial, as well as your willingness to trust me, that truly saved you."

James closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of the thick carpet of Dumbledore's office against every inch of his body, his senses alive in a way that only death could stimulate. "I need to find Lily," he said suddenly.

"Not yet," Professor McGonagall interjected for the first time. "Albus, ministry officials will be along any moment, they'll know you're behind this, we've got to get him out of here."

"Very true," Dumbledore extended a hand to James and pulled him to his feet. James staggered, his legs still unsteady, but Dumbledore steadied him. "James, you will accompany Minerva to the Room of Requirement. I have taken the liberty of obtaining your Invisibility Cloak from your home." Dumbledore drew the long, silky shroud from within his robes. "I suggest, for security purposes, you wear it until you reach your destination. Once there, I want you to rest. As soon as you are again well enough, we will begin the search for Lily."

"Professor, there isn't ti—"

Dumbledore interrupted. "I've sent an owl to Sirius telling him to meet me here in three hours time. I'll send him along as soon as he arrives."

James reluctantly threw the cloak over his shoulders, turning to follow Professor McGonagall down the stairs, when Dumbledore called him back. "James."

James halted, letting the cloak slip off his head so Dumbledore could see him. "Professor?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Welcome back."